The Captain's Bride
by CreativeReading
Summary: Steve Rogers finally meets someone who understands him, but she's harboring a secret of her own.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note** - I own nothing from Marvel. All the OCs are mine.

* * *

Ch.1

Everything went by too quickly. Life was a blur. Steve thought he would get the hang of it, that he would somehow be able to adapt to losing seventy years of history. But he constantly felt like he was on edge, drowning. He was always a step behind, smiling blankly when someone made a pop culture reference or joke.

Life seemed crude and over the top nowadays. It's not as though Steve was a prude. He did travel around with showgirls and their costumes were hardly nun's habits. He'd spent time in the army surrounded by the other guys' drawings and photos of pin-up girls. However, that really didn't compare to reading about a celebrity's lack of underwear on a magazine cover while trying to buy bread at the local grocery store.

And it wasn't just the current stuff that threw him off. A mention of the Beatles or Marilyn Monroe would send him into a scramble, trying to quickly figure out what people were talking about. He thought this time-based culture shock would wear off in a few weeks, but here it was, months later, and he was still floating, unsure of himself and always feeling out of step.

00000

He liked being sent on missions the most. After the Battle of New York, he began working for S.H.I.E.L.D. full time. On missions, he had a job and he could do it well. They still called him Captain and let him make most of the military decisions, although he didn't fail to notice that there was someone with extensive technological training sent with him to modify his commands if need be. At first, he resented these babysitters, but he had to admit that, on more than one occasion their counter-commands had meant the difference between success and failure on a mission.

It was the down time in New York that was the hardest. He had been relocated to the "Avengers" Tower, since several floors of Stark's building had been transferred over to S.H.I.E.L.D.'s control. It was an uneasy alliance at best. Tony didn't fully trust S.H.I.E.L.D. and vice versa. It helped that Tony spent a lot of time at his house in Malibu, only jetting out to New York a couple of times a month.

Stark was so hard for Steve to deal with. He was brash, impulsive and definitely not a team player. Although they had bonded over fighting the Chitauri invasion, they had a hard time getting over their basic personality clashes. Nobility and self-sacrifice didn't come automatically to Stark and it frustrated Steve to no end whenever they went out on rare missions together.

But Stark's attitude when they were back in New York was the worst. His snide jokes and put-downs just grated on Steve and reminded him of the schoolyard bullies from when he was a kid. He tried to remind himself again and again that Stark had many great qualities, but it was lost whenever Tony hit him on the back and called him, "Gramps."

Being out of touch with technology and the modern world was especially grating living in the Tower. There was an omnipresent A.I., JARVIS, which would, all of a sudden, without notice, begin giving him messages or reminders. Luckily, Bruce Banner was staying at the Tower also and helped him whenever he could. When not rampaging as the Hulk, Bruce was a quiet, thoughtful scientist and tried to smooth things over between Tony and Steve as best he could. Bruce was the one who filled him in whenever Steve felt lost. Normally, Steve wouldn't have much in common with an advanced scientist, but Bruce's sense of decency and kindness made him one of Steve's few friends.

So, Steve's life alternated between missions and staying holed up in his room at the Tower.

His few attempts to get out in the world ended in failure. He actually dated a waitress from his favorite cafe, Beth. She had been so thankful and enthusiastic after the Battle of New York that when he saw her at the newly rebuilt cafe, he agreed to go out to dinner with her, even though he had a few reservations.

They went out twice, and although she was pretty and sweet, he didn't feel anything more for her than friendship. It shouldn't have hurt so much, then, when he received a voicemail the following week that she was back with her ex-boyfriend and "working it out". He received a wedding invitation from her a few months later, so he guessed they were successful.

0000000

Steve had been avoiding the cafe for weeks, but one day, in a lull between missions, he forced himself to leave his room and venture downstairs and the few blocks to get some coffee. He had found out from one of the other waitresses that Beth had gotten another job in the city where her fiance lived, so there would be no more awkward hellos on the rare occasions that he treated himself to an overpriced coffee.

The inside was overly crowded, not a free table in sight. He motioned to one of the waitresses that he'd be at one of the outside tables and then made a beeline for the last free one. Just as he was about to sit down, he saw a blur out of the corner of his eye. Once seated, he looked up to see a woman in the chair across the table.

"Oh, I'm sorry," she stammered. "I didn't see you. I was just trying to snag the last table. It's really busy today," she said as way of apology. She was pretty without being obvious about it, long reddish blond hair that curled wildly, light green eyes and an enormous smile. He told himself he wasn't checking her out, although he was more than a bit disappointed that her bulky sweater left her figure completely obscured.

"It's fine," he replied with a smile. "We could share?" he suggested.

"Thanks, I appreciate it. Everyone around here always has their laptop out and they hog these tables like mini offices all day."

Steve nodded. He'd noticed the same thing, people spending hours camped out in one spot.

She cleared her throat, "Um, can I ask for another favor? Could we switch seats? I don't want to stare at that the whole time." She gestured to the newly reconstructed Tower.

"Sure, I can understand; bad memories," Steve said as he stood. After moving, he asked, "Did you know someone that got hurt in the attack?"

"A kid in my class; his mom was working in one of the buildings. She's still in a coma. Doctors don't know what kind of brain damage she'll have when or if she wakes up."

"That's rough. How old's the kid?"

"Five. I teach kindergarteners."

That hit Steve hard. He had assumed that the girl was talking about a college classmate, not a little kid. Five years old.

"So, I take it you're not reading that for class?" he asked.

The girl looked down at her book, a worn paperback copy of Mere Christianity by C.S. Lewis. She smiled and shook her head, "Sometimes, when life doesn't make sense, it can help to go back to the basics. Have you ever read it?"

"Can't say that I have."

"That's understandable. It's an older book. It was first published, let's see," she flipped to the inside cover, "in 1952. Way before your time."

Steve had to grin. It seemed this girl didn't have any idea who he was.

"It's one of my favorites. I must have read it at least four different times. Lewis had this amazing ability to articulate complex ideas that I've always wanted to be able to say so succinctly."

"Sounds a bit old-fashioned, " Steve said offhandedly.

"Try timeless; there's a difference." She blushed. "Sorry to get so worked up, like I said, it's one of my favorites."

"So, do you study lots of different religions?"

"What makes you ask that?"

"Big Bad Voodoo Daddy," Steve read upside down from the card she was using as a bookmark.

"Oh, it's the name of the band. Have you heard of them?"

"Can't say that I have." Steve didn't want to admit that he really didn't know any bands after 1944.

"You have to hear them; they're great." She began to fiddle with her phone and Steve began to fidget. Modern music, on the whole, was a bit too jarring for him. Stark's favorite band, AC/DC, was considered "old school" and it was still too much for Steve to take.

"Here; listen," she said, offering him an earbud.

To Steve's surprise, he heard music that was squarely in the the swing / big band era. His eyes widened a bit.

"Great, aren't they? They've been around for ages, since the late 80s."

Around for ages. The phrase made him grin.

"So, you like this kind of music?" he asked neutrally.

"They're my favorite. My friends and I go to their concerts whenever they're in New York."

"Really?"

"Yeah, they're playing this Saturday night at the Crimson Lounge. We go all out; get dressed up in period clothes, swing dance; it's so much fun."

"Dressing like the 1940s and listening to swing music is your idea of fun?" Steve asked incredulously.

"You have to give it a try. I know it sounds silly, but I promise you that you'd have a great time," she said with a smile.

Steve thought for a moment. He had to admit, it was the most tempting offer he'd had in a long time.

"Maybe I will."

"Here, take the card," she said, handing over her bookmark.

000000

As she left the cafe an hour later, she looked down at her phone. A text was waiting for her.

_Has the target taken the bait?_

Stacy sighed and typed, _Yes_.


	2. Chapter 2

**Ch.** **2**

The next morning, Steve woke up with the oddest feeling. It was hope. He was actually looking forward to his week. He had real plans to do something social with someone who wouldn't look at him oddly if he referenced World War II or rationing.

He took a shower and got dressed, humming tunelessly to himself. He made himself some coffee and then made the mistake of looking at the morning's newspaper that had been delivered to his front door. There was nothing but bad news in the world, it seemed. He glanced down at the card that Stacy had given him and smiled. Their talk had been so unusual for him exactly because it had been so normal. It had been just two people trying to get to know each other.

In the past two years he had met a few women, but most came off as overly starstruck, much more interested in Captain America than Steve Rogers. Back in the 40s, when he was travelling with the showgirls drumming up business for the war bonds, he allowed himself a few flirtations based solely on his fleeting fame, but they were empty and hollow in the end. The women had only been attracted to the image, not who he really was.

Then, once he had gotten to know Peggy Carter, all other women just seemed to fade into the background. But fate had cheated him from even getting to dance with her, much less having any kind of future with her. After he woke up, he debated going to see her, but ultimately he didn't. He was resigned to let those memories just stay memories.

He tapped the card against the table and turned his mind back to the present. He desperately needed to get out of the apartment and meet people who were at least somewhat normal. He had gone on quite a few missions with Natasha Romanoff and she was a flawless operative, but she was hardly someone you would describe as warm and fuzzy. She was all business while on assignment, although she did make an effort to be helpful, especially when Steve felt lost or confused, which happened far more often than he liked.

Bruce had been kind as always, but he basically lived in one of Stark's labs. Steve could count on one hand the number of times Bruce had left the Tower to do anything social in the last year. Bruce was always willing to help Steve or talk to him when Steve stopped by, but it didn't escape Steve's notice the Bruce had never once sought him out.

And, Stark was, well, Stark.

The more Steve thought about, the better Saturday night sounded. It would be great to get out and be around people. Even in his pre-serum days, Steve had been a loner with only Bucky as his constant companion, but even loners needed to get out of the house once in a while.

00000

It was Saturday night and Steve looked nervously at the mirror. He fiddled with his tie. He felt ridiculous, getting ready to playact like it was seventy years ago. He had met Stark down in the lobby earlier and lied when he'd asked Steve if he was going out. Steve couldn't endure the thought of Stark teasing him, ridiculing him for trying to relive his past. He'd rather let Stark think of him as some pathetic shut-in rather than some loser desperately trying to cling to his past.

He plopped down on his couch and contemplated just forgetting the whole thing. Then, he remembered that girl's smile. He stood up. If he could face down machine gun fire, he could surely handle yet another awkward social situation.

He grabbed his leather motorcylce jacket and locked the front door, heading for the stairwell. He took the steps two at a time, allowing himself to fly down the stairs, eager in anticipation.

0000

He arrived at 6:30 p.m and parked his motorcycle near the entrance. The card had said that doors were open at 6:30 p.m. and that the concert started at 8:00 p.m. Once again, Steve hesitated. On the one hand, he didn't want to wait around in a bar for an hour and a half by himself, on the other, he didn't want to show up at eight and find out that Stacy and her friends had been there the whole time.

He went up to the line outside the bar, noticing that only about half the people were dressed in anything that could be remotely considered period clothing. He started to feel uncomfortable and wondered if he should just leave his jacket on and not check it. He waited in line and craned his neck to look for Stacy.

All of a sudden, he heard a voice behind him and a finger tap him on his shoulder. "Hi, mind if we cut in line?"

He turned and saw her, bundled in a long coat, standing with two other girls and two guys.

"Yeah, sure, hi," he said, beaming.

"Everyone, this is Steve," she said, motioning to him.

"Hi," he waved with a smile to the group.

"**Pero**, **que** **guapo**," said one of the girls to Stacy. She was taller than Stacy, maybe only a few inches shorter than Steve himself, with short brown hair.

"**A lo mejor habla español**," Stacy replied, warning evident in her tone.

"**Pues, estoy segura que no, pero vamos a ver**," she said to Stacy. "**Hablas español***?" the girl asked Steve.

"Uh, what?" Steve said, confused.

"See, I told you," she retorted triumphantly to Stacy.

"Sorry," Stacy said to Steve with an apologetic smile. "This is my roommate, Monica." Monica waved. And this is my other roommate, Erica."

Erica stuck out her hand to shake. She was at least a foot shorter than Steve, even in heels, and her dark hair was pinned up in an eleborate hairdo. "They get like that all the time. When they do, Josh and I just start up in Tagalog," she said with a wink.

"Nice to meet you," Steve said, not knowing what to say.

"This is Josh," Stacy said, motioning to one of the guys that had come with them.

"Hey, man," he said with a nod. He had a stereotypical zoot suit on, dark with white pinstripes. His black hair was so short that it resembled a military crew cut.

"And this is Michael," Stacy pointed to the second guy; he was taller than Steve and heavy-set, built like a football player. He wore a white fedora that matched his suit and contrasted against his dark skin.

"Nice to meet you," he said, extending his hand. "I am glad I won't be the only one left out of the conversations tonight."

"Aww, poor baby. I offered to teach you Spanish and I know Erica was going to teach you Tagalog," Monica said in a teasing tone.

"Well, let me finish grad school first before I try to tackle another language," Michael said dryly.

"So, how do you all know each other?" Steve asked.

"Well, Monica and I have been roommates since freshman year of college. I never would have made it through my Spanish classes without her. She moved here from Spain."

"Mis tíos, my aunt and uncle, they live here. I wanted to go to university abroad and that's how I ended up here," Monica said with a grin.

"Erica, she lived across the hall from us in college. And Josh and Michael, well, we all went to the same college group," Stacy explained.

"College group?" Steve asked.

"Oh, yeah, at our church."

"Oh," Steve said with a polite smile. He used to go to church every Sunday with his mother. Once she passed, it almost hurt too much to go, like it reminded him of her too much. He'd go on holidays or to weddings. Sometimes, Bucky would give him a hard time for not attending or he'd tell him the pastor was worried about him. He realized with a start that he hadn't been to church once since he awoke from the ice, not even on Christmas or Easter, preferring to spend those days on mission, so that his teammates with families could have some time off.

Steve saw that he was almost to the front of the line. "Do you already have your tickets?" he asked.

"Yeah, we got the cheapest ones," Stacy replied.

"Oh, okay," and he winced when he saw the prices. S.H.I.E.L.D. paid him an excellent salary, especially considering that housing and utilities were thrown in for free, but for a man who remembered paying a nickel for a cup of coffee, paying $35 to sit on a bar stool at the back of a crowded bar seemed steep.

He bought the ticket and followed the group into the club to the coat check area. One by one, everyone shed their jackets.

"You did a great job keeping to the period with your clothes," Stacy said.

"Thanks and you look . . . . great." He didn't know if it was the hair, her smile or the way she looked in her green dress, but he was struck by how much she reminded him of Rita Hayworth.

Let's be honest, it was the dress. It hugged every curve and he forced himself to look away to avoid staring.

"And you look amazing," Michael said, looking down at Erica.

"You have to say that. You're my boyfriend," she said.

"Doesn't change the fact," he said, spinning her around, her red dress flaring around her. He leaned down and kissed her.

"Ugghh, we get it; we get it; you're madly in love. Don't ruin it for the rest of us single people," Monica said in fake disgust before sticking out her tongue.

All of a sudden, Stacy felt her phone vibrate in her clutch purse. She took it out and her expression darkened.

"Bad news?" Steve asked.

"No," she smiled. "Let's go find our seats."

00000

As they moved across the bar, trying to figure out where their seats were, Stacy looked down at her phone.

"_Has the target arrived?_"

Stacy's fingers shook slightly. _Yes_, she wrote. She hesitated a moment and then hit the send button.

"Are you alright?" Steve asked.

"I'm fine," Stacy lied, a wide grin plastered on her face. "Let's get something to drink."

00000

Steve didn't bother ordering any drinks for himself. It was physically impossible for him to get drunk because of the super-serum and he would need to drink pitchers and pitchers of beer to even get tipsy. At $7 a glass, he wasn't about to waste his money.

He offered to buy the first round and found that it boosted his popularity with the group greatly. Stacy offered to go up to the bar to help him carry the drinks back.

"That was really sweet of you, offering to buy the first round," Stacy said as they started over to the bar.

"Well, I really appreciated you telling me about this concert," Steve said.

"Gotta spread the Big Bad Voodoo Daddy****** love around," Stacy said with a grin. "So, do you live around here?"

"No, I live . . . . near the cafe," Steve couldn't bring himself to tell her where he lived. He loved this feeling of normalcy, of being just another face in the crowd. He hadn't realized how much he missed it. He didn't want to ruin it by revealing who he was.

"Wow. Swanky. Are you some type of investment banker or something?" she asked.

"No, um. Military." He hoped she didn't ask him any more questions. Lying to her made him uncomfortable.

"Cool. My grandfather was in the Army. He served in Korea," she said.

They reached the bar and Steve ordered and paid, leaving the bartender a generous tip. Drinks in hand, they made their way back to their seats.

"So, are your friends teachers, too?" Steve asked.

"Monica teaches third grade at my school. We were so lucky to find jobs at the same place. The job market has been really tough. Michael and Erica are getting their doctorates in biochem together. I'm glad they came out tonight. I feel like they live at the library. And Josh, he's a junior stock broker."

"And you three girls live together?"

"Yep, tiny little studio all crammed together. The good thing is that Erica practically lives at the library and Monica is probably the most popular person I've ever met, so she's out every other night. So, a lot of the time, I get the place to myself."

A chorus of shouts greeted them as they returned to the group with their drinks. Steve grinned. Some things never changed.

00000

Before he knew it, the concert had started. The music resembled 1940s swing music, but Steve definitely noted modern influences, especially in some of the lyrics. However, it felt familiar and comfortable. It was one of the first social outings he could remember feeling relaxed in.

Steve was relieved to see that the majority of people were not dancing, choosing instead to sway to the music. Steve might have been from the 40s, but his experience with swing dancing was nearly non-existent. He did notice that Stacy and her friends danced to nearly every song and knew all the lyrics, singing along. Micheal and Erica were a perfect team, despite their height differences, and were mesmerizing to watch. Josh alternated between dancing with Monica and Stacy and was quite good himself.

After several polite refusals, he finally gave into Stacy's haranguing and let her try to teach him to dance. He had a hard time paying attention to the steps, hyper-aware of how close she was, how it felt to hold her in his arms, even if only to learn how to dance. After the third time he stepped on her feet, she suggested that they take a break.

"Sorry about your foot," Steve said.

"Hey, no worries. The first time I tried to learn to dance I elbowed Josh in the face. I nearly broke his nose. There was blood everywhere."

Steve chuckled. That made him feel better about his own misguided attempts at dancing.

0000

Steve noticed that throughout the night, Josh would look over at him, eyes narrowed, teeth clenched. He hadn't said two words to Steve the whole night, even though Steve had tried again and again to engage him in small talk.

"Hey, Monica. Can I ask you a question?" Steve asked her during a lull in the music.

"Yeah, sure. Ask away."

"Did I do something to offend your friend, Josh?" It wouldn't be the first time Steve had offended someone. Natasha Romanoff gave him no end of grief for calling her "ma'am".

"Oh, yeah, he's probably just jealous. Ignore him. He'll get over it."

"Jealous?" Steve asked.

"Yeah, he and Stacy used to date and now she shows up with this cute new stranger. Also, he's used to being the fox in the henhouse," Monica said.

"What?"

"In our group of friends, there are a lot more girls than guys, so the guys get a lot of attention."

"Sounds like a good group," Steve replied.

"See, you would say that." She winked at him and wandered off to dance to the next song.

0000

They stayed until the last song, appropriately entitled, "So Long-Farewell-Goodbye". Then, the lights came back on, their harsh glare causing everyone to squint.

"Ugh. I am never wearing heels again," Stacy said, limping as she left the club.

"You say that every single weekend," Monica teased.

"Well, this time I mean it. One of you guys want to carry me home?" she asked, vaguely waving to the guys in the group. Steve was sorely tempted to say he would, but he knew she was joking. He noticed that Josh stiffened and pulled out his phone to ignore the group.

"If I didn't wear heels, I don't think I could reach you," Erica said wistfully to Michael.

"Honey, I'd lift you up," and with that, Michael lifted Erica off the ground.

"Put me down! Put me down!" Erica shouted, laughing so hard that she could barely breathe.

Josh looked up from his phone. "There's an all-night diner open around the corner. Anyone up for coffee?"

Stacy beamed. "I am always up for coffee."

"Girl, you are an addict. I swear. You better get decaf. I'm not having you bounce around the apartment all night," Monica said.

"I have precisely one vice, coffee. Let me enjoy it," Stacy said.

"One vice? For someone who teaches kindergarten, you'd think your counting would be better," Erica teased.

"Ahhh. The abuse I put up with from my so-called friends." Stacy turned to Steve. "Are you coming?"

"Sounds great," he said.

00000

The diner was one of those retro 50s places, where the waitresses wore short red and white pin-striped dresses. Steve chuckled. It seemed as though he was in for a night of manufactured nostalgia. The waitress seated them quickly and took their order, six decaf coffees.

They were in a large booth. On one side, Erica, Micheal and Josh sat together, on the other were Monica, Stacy and Steve. Steve caught Josh staring at him from across the table and then looking down at his phone. After a few minutes, he blanched and quickly put the phone away, giving Steve a nervous smile.

"So, biochem?" Steve said, looking at the happy couple across from him.

"Yep. Erica and I are going to cure cancer," Michael said confidently.

"Really? Wow," Steve said, suitably impressed.

Erica rolled her eyes. "That's what all biochem majors think."

"But you and me, we're going to do it," Michael said with a wink.

"I wish my adviser had your confidence," Erica replied.

"Give it time. Give it time," Michael said.

"Are you greeting tomorrow?" Josh asked Stacy.

"Yeah," Stacy said, stifling a yawn, "but at the 11 o'clock service. You guys want to meet at Starbucks at 10:30?"

Micheal and Erica nodded, but Monica shook her head.

"Sorry, I've got nursery duty at the 9 o'clock," she said.

"Oh, honey, I don't know how you do it. After a week with little kids, the last thing I want to do on Sunday is to be anywhere near someone under 18," Stacy said with a rueful grin.

"What can I say? I love the babies," Monica said.

They chatted for about a half hour more and Steve was surprised at how relaxed he felt, inserting himself into this group of strangers. Monica stood up, apologizing, but pointing out she'd need to get up early. Steve quickly snagged the check and paid for everyone, earning another round of thanks from the group.

00000

Steve was the first one out the door once the bill had been paid and he noticed that Josh ran up to walk next to him.

"Hey, I am so sorry about being such a jerk earlier. I just figured out who you are. I apologize; that was so not cool of me," he said to Steve.

"That's okay. But, can you do me a favor?" Steve asked.

"Yeah, sure."

"Please don't tell anyone. It's nice just being Steve for once," Steve said, hopeful that he'd agree.

"Oh, yeah, I can see that. I won't tell anyone."

"Thanks, buddy," Steve said, glad that he could breathe easy now.

The girls caught up to them with Michael and Erica walking arm in arm.

"We all took the subway here, did you?" Stacy asked Steve.

Steve shook his head, sorry that the evening had to end.

"So, how'd you get here?" Stacy asked.

Steve pointed to his motorcycle down the block.

"Wait, where's your helmet?" Erica asked*******.

"Um . . . I don't have one," Steve said. He wasn't sure, but he was pretty certain he'd survive most motorcycle accidents due to the super-serum.

"Where are you even from? You can't ride around New York City without a helmet. The cops'll pull you over for sure," Stacy said, her voice rising in concern.

"Not to mention, you could die," Monica pointed out dryly.

"And you could die," Stacy reiterated, gesturing wildly.

Steve was oddly struck by their concern. He didn't want to break the moment by bringing up the unlikelihood of him getting hurt.

"I'll . . . I'll pick one up tomorrow," he replied to her. "Bye, it was nice to meet you all," he said to the group, waving as he turned to walk to his bike.

"You'd better. So, did you like the concert?" Stacy asked, leaving the group behind and following him to his motorcycle.

"Yeah, it was great," Steve replied.

"See, I told you! Are you up for another one? There's one next Saturday night. I got the card for you," Stacy said with a smile.

"Thanks," Steve said, taking it from her and tucking it into his pocket. "I wouldn't miss it for the world."

"See you next Saturday," she said with a wink, before turning and walking back to her friends.

He watched her leave. Next Saturday couldn't come quick enough.

It wasn't until he got home that he realized that he'd forgotten to get her number. Well, he thought, he'd just see her at the next concert.

Unfortunately, that's not what happened.

* * *

**Author's** **notes** -

***Rough translation**-  
How cute is he!  
Maybe he speaks Spanish.  
Well, I'm sure he doesn't, but let's see.  
Do you speak Spanish?

****Big Bad Voodoo Daddy** is a real band. No, I am in no way affiliated with them. I wish I were; they are awesome.

*******Here's the thing. When I watched that last scene in Avengers, with all of the superheroes riding off, seeing Captain America without a helmet really bothered me. I mean, I can handle alien hordes, green rage monsters, and the glow sticks that rob you of your free will, but have a guy ride around on a motorcycle without a helmet on just broke my suspension of disbelief. And yes, I'm just kidding . . . mostly.


	3. Chapter 3

**Ch. 3**

Steve woke up the next morning to JARVIS's artificial voice ringing in his ear. "I'm sorry sir, but you have an urgent phone call on the line that has requested to be put through."

Steve looked blearily over at the clock next to his bed. It was 6:34 a.m. On a Sunday. He couldn't even remember how late it was when he finally fell asleep. "Fine," he said, "Patch it through."

A voice reverberated through the stereos placed around the apartment, "Good morning, Capsicle."

Steve groaned. Of all the people to call him this early in the morning, the last person he wanted to talk to was Stark. Truth be told, he never wanted to talk to Stark.

"I hate to break up your morning routine of prune juice and shuffleboard, but it looks like we got a lead on a Hydra plant."

Steve sat straight up in his bed. S.H.I.E.L.D. had been on the trail of a Hydra weapons facility for weeks, hitting one dead end after another.

"Where?" Steve asked as he got out of bed.

"France. I'm already enroute. Natasha will meet you on the roof in ten minutes. You'd better suit up, buddy."

"I'll be ready," Steve replied.

"Sounds good, Ice Capades. Let's go blast some bad guys."

Ice Capades. Steve gritted his teeth and briefly wondered exactly how much trouble he'd be in if he "accidently" shot Stark in the foot during the next raid.

Steve suited up and grabbed some protein bars and his shield before heading to the roof. He was there in under eight minutes and saw the helicopter coming in for a landing. He hopped on board and seat belted himself in next to Natasha, the pilot. "Good morning, Natasha," he said, trying to mask the exhaustion he felt.

"Late night?" she asked and she grinned as she maneuvered the helicopter in a wide arc.

Steve smiled. Nothing got past her. "Yeah, it was."

"Good night?" she asked offhandedly, but Steve could detect the concern buried in her tone.

"It was great night," he said, grinning in spite of himself.

"Good for you; so let me fill you in," she said and started going over all the mission details. They would arrive at the hellcarrier in a few minutes and then take a plane with a small hand-picked crew to France. Once there, they would coordinate with a contingent of local S.H.I.E.L.D. operatives that would act as backup for the raid.

"And the intel's good?" Steve asked. There had been a lot of false leads lately. At times, it felt like they were chasing their own tails.

"I conducted the interrogation myself," Natasha said, landing the helicopter.

"That's good enough for me," Steve said. He'd seen her work. It was brilliant, the way she was able to play people. Truth be told, it made him a more than a little intimidated by her after seeing her reduce hardened enemy operatives to a puddle of tears, using only words.

00000

The next day, Steve was crouching outside the warehouse, leading dozens of agents in the raid. Stark was working as air support and would come in through a skylight on Steve's command. There weren't any guards posted, but the tech team had confirmed that the warehouse had been heavily shielded to prevent anyone from detecting how many heat signatures were in the building, a Hydra tactic they'd used more than once. Steve hated going in blind, but there wasn't any time to hesitate.

"On my mark, we'll go in on three . . . One, two . . .," Steve said. There was the telltale sound of glass breaking. Once again, Stark had jumped the gun. Steve shook his head in frustration.

"Three," he said and the S.H.I.E.L.D. forces began to pour into the warehouse from every entrance.

"Well, that was . . . anticlimactic," Steve said as he reached the middle of the empty warehouse, Natasha by his side. Stark slowly descended in front of him, flipping open his helmet, and the rest of the operatives formed a loose circle around them.

"Why does this keep happening? You know I missed a perfectly good massage session to attend this shindig of yours. What a waste of time. You guys obviously have a mole in your organization," Stark said.

"In our organization? What about your organization, buddy?" Steve bit out.

"My organization consists of . . . . let's see, . . . me, so unless you're accusing me of . . .," Stark began angrily.

"Guys, guys, settle down. There's a leak somewhere. We need to track it down. What we don't need is to be at each other's throats," Natasha said, placing herself between the both of them.

They left a small contingent of agents behind to look for clues in the warehouse, but it was fairly obvious that the place had been scrubbed and any useful information was gone. Stark returned to New York and Natasha and Steve headed to the local S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters in Paris for a debriefing and, as usual, several hours of pointless meetings. Steve was overwhelmed at how much bureaucracy there was nowadays. He typically spent at least ten times as much time on writing and reading reports or attending meetings as he did planning or commanding missions.

Steve finally ducked out of the last meeting at 6 p.m., deciding to take advantage of the temporary layover and walk around the city. Paris was beautiful, although as he saw couple after couple walk around arm in arm, he felt more than a little lonely. After a quick dinner at a restaurant that he was sure was a tourist trap, given the menu posted in several different languages, he returned to the hotel that his team was staying in. He was tired, still a bit thrown off by the time change and ready to get some shut-eye.

00000

The next day was another endless round of reports and meetings. He actually wasn't sure what was worse. While his eyes ached from staring at a computer screen, if he had to listen in on yet another presentation done by an analyst who had clearly never been in the field, much less ever seen a Hydra agent, he might punch a hole in the wall. Every meeting was full of analysis based almost solely on probability and statistical predictions. When did life change? When did people start living their lives hypothetically and theoretically instead of dealing with what actually happened?

As soon as the meetings broke for an afternoon coffee break, Steve bolted from the room, itching to be anywhere but there. Natasha caught up with him. "I've got some good news," she said.

"Please tell me that it is anything but another meeting," Steve said, groaning.

"You're in luck. I just received a text from Director Fury. We have a new assignment."

"Oh, finally," Steve said, relief flooding him.

"Get back to the hotel, pack up your stuff and meet us out at the airfield in an hour," Natasha said.

"I'll be there," Steve said. He was so ready to get some actual work done.

00000

Sadly for both Natasha and Steve, the next week and a half consisted of criss-crossing the globe, chasing one bad lead after another. Their team was disheartened and Steve's usual good-natured leadership began to sour as more arguments and back-biting broke out among the agents under his command. Finally, Natasha contacted Director Fury and he put the team out of their misery, ordering everyone to regroup back in New York while they tried to figure out another strategy.

Steve arrived at his apartment, weary and frustrated on a Friday night. He had missed the concert with Stacy and her friends the weekend before and, to him, it was just one more thing that caused him to punch his poor pillow in irritation. He kept thinking how nice it had been to have something other than work to hold on to, how carefree he had felt, if only for a few hours. He sighed as he went to bed, hoping that he'd figure out some way to track Stacy down in the morning.

00000

Steve woke up the next morning with renewed enthusiasm. He could do this. He worked for an organization that tracked people for a living. Surely, he could find one girl in all of New York City.

After getting dressed and making breakfast, Steve sat down to the laptop that S.H.I.E.L.D. had provided for him. He had been introduced to the basics of Internet searches, so he was confident that he could find her in a matter of minutes.

After almost two hours of fruitless searching, Steve nearly crushed the computer in his hands. He realized that after meeting the girl twice, she had spent far more time asking questions about him than he had about her. He doubted the fact that she really liked coffee would help him track her down.

In frustration, he turned to his last resort.

"JARVIS?" he asked the room at large. He was faintly nervous about the response.

"Yes, sir?" the disembodied A.I. responded politely with its faintly cultured accent. It still gave Steve the creeps to talk to JARVIS, made him feel like his every move was being watched.

"I need to find someone. Can you do that?" Steve asked. He almost wished the answer was no.

"Yes, sir. I have access to several different databases not available to the general public," JARVIS replied.

"Alrighty. Let's get started. Her name is Stacy. I don't know her last name. I do know that she's a kindergarten teacher in New York City."

"Public or private school? Is it a charter school? Do you know the borough?" JARVIS asked in quick succession.

Steve shrugged, but then realized he needed to reply. "I don't know."

"Well, then, I can pull up an array of possible matches," JARVIS said.

All of a sudden, a collection of images was projected onto the far wall. There were only four photos and Steve instantly found Stacy's smiling face among the group.

"That one. On the far left," Steve said.

"Her name is Stacy O'Sullivan. I have programmed her home address, email and cell number into your phone. Would you like to know her current location?"

"Her current location?" Steve asked, bewildered.

"The GPS on her phone puts her at the Café Mystère, located 0.17 miles from Stark Tower."

She was at the café were they first met. Steve grinned. Finally, it seemed as though things were going his way. "Thanks, JARVIS," he said as he tore out of the apartment, grabbing his phone as he charged out of there.

00000

He saw her sitting at an outside table. Her back was to him and she was hunched over a cup of coffee and playing with her phone.

"Hi, Stacy," Steve said tentatively as he walked around to face her.

Stacy gave a bit of start and quickly put her phone in her jacket pocket. "Oh, sorry, you surprised me. Hi, um, Steve, how are you?"

"I'm good. Do you mind if I sit down?" he asked.

"Sure. Go right ahead," she said, her tone friendly, but guarded.

"I just wanted to let you know that I'm so sorry that I missed the last concert. I got called out of town for an assignment and I didn't have your number."

"Oh, yeah. You're in the military, right? Look, no worries, it's fine."

"Are you on your way to the gym?" Steve asked, pointing to the gym bag at her feet. She was wearing an oversized red T-shirt under her jacket as well as form-fitting black pants and tennis shoes.

Stacy sighed and nodded. "Yeah, I hate it though. I only go 'cause it's cheap."

"Why don't you like it?" Steve asked.

"It's so crowded, at least whenever I'm off work and can go. And, well, . . . " She blushed and looked down.

"What else?" he asked, leaning forward.

"It's just," she huffed. "It's got a bit of a meat market vibe. I just hate having a pushy jerk try to hit on me while I'm trying to work out."

"I could see that," he replied, sympathetically.

"So, where do you work out?" she said brightly in an obvious attempt to change the subject.

"How did you know I work out?" Steve asked, a bit surprised by the question.

"Yeah, well, muscles like that don't magically appear overnight," she said, waving a hand at him.

Steve chuckled and shook his head. "You'd be surprised."

"So, where? If it's cheaper than what I'm paying now, I'd be tempted to switch," she said as she leaned back and readjusted her messy ponytail.

"There," he said, pointing to the Tower.

"Oh, is that where you work? Are there some sort of military offices there?" Stacy asked.

"Not exactly," Steve sighed. Now was a good a time as any to let the cat out of the bag. "You see, I haven't told you my last name."

"Is is Stark? Are you his brother? 'Cause you don't look like you're related to him," she said, teasing him.

"No, it's Rogers," Steve said, his body tensing.

"Steve Rogers," she paused. "Wait, you're Captain America?" she asked.

"Yep."

"And I took you swing dancing and tried to tell you about proper 1940s attire. Ugghh, why is there never a sinkhole to swallow you whole when you need it? I'm so, so sorry. I must have seemed incredibly lame," she said apologetically.

"No, not at all. It was refreshing. It was nice just being Steve for once, just a normal guy," Steve replied.

"Wow . . . Oh, no. I hope I didn't offend you with the whole Stark comment. I am sure you guys are like best friends or something like that."

Steve bit back a laugh. "Hardly. So, are you still interested in trying out my gym?" he asked. He was desperately trying to think of a way to make her feel better.

"Am I even allowed in there? Isn't it like superheros only or something?" she asked.

"There's a gym one door down from my apartment. I am the only one on the floor who ever uses it. You're free to come and work out as long as I'm there to let you in," Steve said.

"Really? Because that would be beyond cool," Stacy said and Steve could hear the excitement in her voice.

"Would you want to try it out?" Steve asked and stood up.

Stacy drained the rest of her coffee in one long gulp. She set down the cup and waved over the waitress to pay her bill. "I'd love to."

Steve snagged the bill from the waitress and paid it for Stacy. "It's the least I can do, considering I stood you guys up," he said as he added a large tip, giving Stacy a wink.

"Thank you so much," she said and they started towards the Tower.

000000

As they entered the glass doors of the Tower lobby, Steve waved at the security team seated behind the enormous curved desk to his right, staring at the monitors. There was a team of eight uniformed guards on duty at any one time and Steve had tried to get to know them.

"I'm going to sign her in as my guest," Steve said to the group of guards and one of them nodded back.

"So, I should warn you. Considering what we do, security is pretty tight around here," Steve said with an apologetic smile to Stacy.

"First off, you'll need to have them scan your hand," he said, waving to the device on the security desk. "If your fingerprints are in any database, they will use them to confirm your identity."

"Well, they are," Stacy said as she placed her right hand on the machine inside the lighted outline.

Steve looked over at her. He realized he didn't really know this girl very well at all. Perhaps, she had some sort of a checkered past.

She smiled at him. "I'm a teacher. All teachers are required to be fingerprinted."

"Oh, huh. I didn't know. They didn't do that, back when I was in school," he said, trying to cover for his lapse.

"I'm sure a lot of things have changed," she said.

"You have no idea. Every single day I find out something new," he said.

"Well, that's got to be fun," she said lightly.

"Not as much as you'd think," he said.

"Identity confirmed. Stacy O'Sullivan." The machine responded, sounding vaguely like JARVIS but with a more mechanical twange.

"Next is the full body scanner," he said, pointing to the large machine in the middle of the lobby.

"Kind of reminds me of going on a flight," Stacy said as she approached the chamber.

"According to Stark, this one's a bit more . . . advanced than the ones you'd typically find at an airport."

"Okay, so does my gym bag go through the X-ray machine on the side?" she asked.

"Yeah, along with anything that is metal."

She took her phone and keys from her pocket and put them inside her bag.

"All ready to go," she said.

He waved her through to the scanner and looked over to the guards. After a moment, one of the guards gave them a thumbs up sign and she walked through to the other side, collecting her gym bag and fishing her phone out of it. She put it back in her pocket.

Once Steve finished with his own security checks, they walked towards the elevator together. The doors opened and they went inside.

"Eighth floor," Steve said.

"Yes, sir," JARVIS replied and the elevator doors closed.

"What was that?" Stacy asked.

"JARVIS. He's the real security here. The stuff downstairs was mostly just for show. He's the one who keeps an eye on everyone here."

"Interesting," Stacy remarked as the elevator began to quickly ascend.

00000

Stacy felt for her phone in her jacket pocket. Without taking it out, she wrote a quick message. "_Inside_." She looked over at Steve and gave him a smile as she hit send.


	4. Chapter 4

**Ch. 4**

When the elevator door opened, Steve gestured for her to step out, "Ladies first."

"See, now I know why you're such a gentleman," Stacy said.

"Don't modern men act like gentlemen?" Steve asked as he turned to the left and walked down the hall.

"Some do. A lot don't."

"Well, here's the gym," Steve said, opening the door next to his apartment.

"There's no lock?" Stacy asked.

"Like I said, JARVIS is the real security here. There's some type of electronic locking device on the gym doors, in case of emergency, but I don't think they're too worried about someone walking off with a dumbbell."

"That makes sense."

"If you'd like, you can go ahead and get started and I'll be in once I've changed my clothes," Steve said.

"Sounds good. Thanks again," Stacy said as she entered the gym.

Steve walked one door down to apartment number 6 and placed his palm on the device next to his door to open it. He looked around his apartment as he crossed the threshold and he winced. He usually kept the place rather tidy, but it was a bit of a mess with the dirty cereal bowl and coffee cup out on the kitchen counter, the pile of nearly two weeks of old newspapers strewn across the dining room table and his pajamas from the night before crumpled in a corner. He tore around the apartment, cleaning as quickly as he could, acutely aware that he was racing against the clock.

He went to his bedroom and changed clothes, putting on the usual grey sweatpants and tight white undershirt he wore while boxing. He was aware that many men nowadays seemed to drown in their clothes and often wore outfits that were several sizes too large. He knew he might blend in better if he followed suit, but he just couldn't bring himself to do it.

He was just about to leave the apartment, when he caught sight of his laptop on the dining room table. The last thing he needed was for her to find out he had tried to investigate her whereabouts. He wanted their meeting at the café to seem like a happy coincidence. He powered down the machine and then decided to stow it in his bedroom. He took one last look around the apartment before heading next door.

He found Stacy already working out in the far corner of the cavernous room. She pulled an earbud out of her ear as he approached. "Did you know you get T.V. on these ellipticals? And the internet? I may never get off of this. I may just have to live in your gym," Stacy said between huffing breaths.

"I'm glad you like it," Steve said. He had never once been on one of those machines. It vaguely reminded him of photos that he had seen of mice running on wheels. He couldn't see the appeal.

He walked over to the heavy punching bag on the opposite side of the large room. He wrapped his hands, preferring that over the bulky boxing gloves. As he began to punch the bag, his eyes kept wandering over to Stacy, the mirrored walls reflecting her image. He caught himself more than once._ Focus, Steve. The only reason she's here is to get away from degenerates. You don't want to seem like a lech._ For a few minutes, he would focus on the bag, the feel of his knuckles against it, the swing of his arms. And then, once again, he'd spot her out of the corner of his eye, bouncing up and down, and he's lose the rhythm of his punches.

After about a half an hour, Stacy finished and started wandering around the gym with her arms crossed. She looked at one weight machine after another and then frown, biting her lip.

Steve stopped punching the heavy bag and walked over to her. "Do you need some help?"

"Well, it's just that the hardest part of going to a new gym is the weight machines. They are all a little different, so it's hard to know which one here corresponds to the one I usually use at my gym."

"I can see that. Well, what kind of weight machines do you usually use?"

"Well, let's see. I normally just focus on upper body since I figure the elliptical is plenty for the lower. So, I do back, shoulders, biceps, triceps and chest," she said, pointing to various parts of her body.

"Have you considered boxing? It's a great upper body workout."

"Boxing? I don't really know anything about boxing," she said with a shrug.

"I could show you," Steve said, trying to mask the eagerness in his voice.

"Really? Wow. Captain America as my personal trainer. Who could refuse that?" she said, grinning.

"Out of uniform, I'm just Steve," he said, exasperated, his jaw clenching and his words sharper than he'd meant them to be.

"Sorry, I . . .I didn't mean . . .," she looked down, obviously nervous and Steve felt like a heel.

"No, I'm the one that's sorry. Why don't we get started? I usually just wrap my hands, but why don't we get you a pair of gloves."

Steve took Stacy through a few of the basics that he learned as a kid. He started with the right way to plant your feet and how to hold your arms. Once she had a good idea of the proper stance, he had her try a few preliminary types of punches. He decided to begin with the jab, correcting her when she twisted awkwardly, showing her how to follow through with her body.

After twenty minutes, Steve could see that Stacy's arms were shaking from the effort.

"Let's just stop here," he said gently.

"But, I didn't get the chance to learn hardly anything," she said plaintively.

"When do you normally work out?" Steve asked.

"Tuesdays and Thursdays after dinner and Saturday mornings," Stacy replied, taking off her gloves.

"Why don't you come over this coming Tuesday night and you can work out and I'll show you some more?" he said, excited at the prospect of seeing her on a regular basis.

"Really? That'd be great," she said. "I'd better go hit the showers. I've got to meet Monica for lunch."

Stacy grabbed her gym bag and headed to the women's bathroom at the back of the gym. Less than ten seconds later, she emerged with a panicked look on her face.

"There are no showers!"

Steve nodded. That made sense. Since everyone who used the gym on this floor lived in the Tower, there was no reason to add showers to the bathrooms.

"I have to meet Monica in an hour. I don't have time to go home and shower before seeing her," Stacy said, her voice rising.

"You can," Steve paused, not wanting to scare her off, "use mine. It's just next door."

"Are you sure?" she asked, hopefully.

"Be my guest," he said with a smile.

"You are a lifesaver. Thank you so much!"

0000

Steve sat on his couch, trying to ignore that fact that there was a girl showering in his bathroom, tapping his fingers against the coffee table in front of him. He jumped up, thumbed through the newspapers, not really reading a single story and rearranged the cushions on his couch. Four times. Finally, there was the sound of the water turning off and then, of a hair dryer turning on. Fifteen minutes later, Stacy emerged. Steve sucked in his breath. She looked great, her hair a cascade of strawberry blond curls. He smiled when he saw what she was wearing, jeans that looked liked they were painted on. _Not all modern fashions are bad_, he thought.

"Thanks again for letting me use your shower. I feel like a whole new woman," she said. "I love your apartment. Your bathroom is three times as big as my kitchen. And your kitchen is bigger than my entire apartment."

Steve looked around his home. He had thought it rather large when it was assigned to him. Truth be told, he had seen entire families live in apartments smaller than this one.

"I love all the black and white photos on the wall. That's V-J Day in Times Square, right?" she asked.

Steve looked up at the framed posters on the wall. The place had been decorated before he even moved in and he couldn't be bothered to change anything, not really noticing the artwork much before.

"I guess so. Pepper Potts, Stark's . . . ," Steve groped for a good description. Girlfriend seemed wrong for some reason. " . . . companion, had the place set up before I even got here."

Stacy smiled. "Well, she's got good taste. You know, I actually have that nurse's uniform. I found one at a thrift shop right after Halloween and bought it on a whim. It's in the back of my closet, waiting for the next costume party."

She walked around and pointed to a framed black and white photo of yet another couple kissing. "And that's The Kiss by the Hotel de Ville. So cool."

Steve smiled tightly and mentally promised himself that he'd get rid of them as soon as she left. The last thing he needed was an apartment filled of reminders of romantic couples.

"So, is there another Big Bad Voodoo Daddy concert tonight?" Steve said lightly, trying to downplay his interest while he changed the subject. He knew it was bad manners to angle for an invitation, but he couldn't imagine spending the rest of the day in his apartment staring at the four walls.

"I wish. They've moved on to the next city. No, tonight will be something entirely different," Stacy said ruefully.

"What?" Steve asked.

"Ugh. Babysitting," Stacy replied.

"Babysitting?"

"Yeah, two of our friends, Rick and Angelica, fell in love and got married two years ago, the traitors," she said with a smile. "Now, they have twins and they haven't left their apartment in months. Monica offered to babysit for them tonight so that they could finally have a date night and then she roped me in since twins are a lot of work. I got Erica to volunteer too, and, since Erica was coming, Michael decided to tag along. Then, Josh found out that we were all going to hang out without him, so he decided to come over, too."

"So, the whole gang?"

"Yeah, I mean, hopefully the babies will sleep a lot. We'll eat pizza, play video games, maybe watch a movie. Just try to make the best of it."

"Sounds like fun," Steve said wistfully.

"It should be," she said and then paused, looking at him intently, "Would you . . . . would you like to come along?" Stacy asked incredulously.

"Yeah, I would," Steve said.

"You don't have some cool superhero plans on a Saturday night?" Stacy asked.

Steve shook his head and tried not to laugh. "Not so much."

"Well, great. Um . . . Let me write down the address and my number in case you get lost. We're meeting there at 5 p.m. sharp," Stacy said as she took out her phone to get the address. "Do you have a pen?"

Steve grabbed a pen and writing pad from the kitchen counter. "Here you go." Steve said as he handed them to her.

Stacy started to write down the information. "I know you like just being Steve, but is it alright if I tell my friends who you are? It's just that if Monica finds out I'm keeping a secret from her, she'll kill me."

"Yeah, you can tell them, but I really just want to be treated like a regular guy."

"Regular guy. Got it," she said with a smile as she handed him the paper. She looked down at her phone. "I'd better get going. I've got to meet Monica. She gives me such a bad time if I'm late. See you at five."

"See you then," Steve said as he escorted her to the door.

00000

Steve arrived at the building at 4:55 p.m., a bit early as always. He pressed the intercom button for the apartment, letting it buzz for a few seconds.

"Who is it?" a high-pitched voice asked.

"I'm Steve, a friend of Stacy's."

"Oh, yeah; come on up," and the buzzer rang to open the lobby door.

Steve took the stairs to the second floor and knocked on the door of apartment B. A tall, dark-haired woman smiled at him as she opened the door.

"Hi, Steve. I'm Angelica. Stacy said you'd be coming over. Come on in," she said, waving him in.

"Nice to meet you, ma'am."

She cocked an eyebrow at "ma'am" and Steve inwardly cringed. He couldn't shake the habit, even though he knew it made him stand out.

"Well, you can go ahead and sit down to wait if you'd like," she said, gesturing to a sofa in front of a large flat-screen T.V. "Make yourself at home. You're the first one here."

Steve tensed a bit, but smiled and sat down.

"Honey, do you know where my good shoes are? All I can find are my tennis shoes," said a man emerging from the bedroom, dressed in a dark suit and black dress socks with a pair of white sneakers in his hands.

"I think they're under the bed. Say hi to Steve; he's Stacy's new . . . friend," Angelica said as she walked into the bathroom.

The man smiled at Steve and walked towards him, hand outstretched.

"Hi, I'm Rick," he said as he shook Steve's hand heartily. He was a bit heavy-set and shorter than Steve with reddish-brown hair and a half-grown, scraggly beard.

"Nice, uh, beard," Steve said, not knowing what else to say.

"No, no, no. We do not like the beard! Do not encourage the beard," Steve heard Angelica shout from the bathroom.

Steve looked at Rick, a bit bewildered.

"Sorry, dude, you stepped right into that one," Rick said to Steve. "See, Steve likes the beard," Rick yelled towards the other room.

"Yes, but Steve isn't the one who's going to be kissing you at the end of the night," Angelica snapped back as she entered the room, fluffing her hair and adjusting the golden locket she had just put on.

"You gotta respect the beard," Rick said plaintively, tongue firmly in cheek, as he ran his hand over his chin.

"No, **mi amor**, I really don't. This the first time we have been able to go out in months. I spent three hours getting ready. Please, please lose the beard. I promise; I will make it worth your while," she said affectionately and gave him a wink.

Rick gave a sigh. "The things you do for love. Fine, I'm going to shave," he said reluctantly.

The door buzzed again and Steve breathed a sigh of relief. As much as he liked this new couple, he felt a bit out of place.

"Steve, can you buzz them in? I've got to go find Rick's shoes," Angelica said as she walked towards the bedroom.

0000

Moments later, Stacy and the rest of her friends were in the apartment. Steve noticed that Stacy was the only one who had taken off her jacket; the rest of her friends were still bundled up.

"**Pero, que guapa estás**," Monica said to Angelica.

"I know; **Mira**," Angelica replied, twirling around, showing off her long royal blue dress. "It's the first time I've been out of sweatpants since the twins were born," she said with a grin.

"Well, you guys go out and have a great time. We'll take care of the little ones," Monica told her.

"Thank you guys so much. They're napping in their cribs right now and they'll probably wake up around seven or so and want their bottles then. I've left clean bottles out and there's pumped milk in the freezer. They'll need another bottle around ten or so and then they should fall asleep pretty much right after that. You guys have our cell numbers, right?" Angelica said, looking a bit anxious, chewing on her bottom lip.

"Yes, yes. Don't worry. I take care of babies all the time at church. It'll be fine," Monica said reassuringly.

"Okay, thanks so much. I'm so looking forward to this," Angelica said. "Honey, are you ready to go?

"Yeah, I had to get my coat. We should get going. Thanks, guys, for watching the kids. Bye," Rick said to the group as he ushered his wife out the door.

Josh waited a moment and then looked expectantly at the rest of the group. "Okay, they're gone. Ready?"

At once, all of Stacy's friends took off their jackets, revealing matching Captain America Shield T-shirts.

"Guys, that is totally not cool. I am so sorry, Steve," Stacy said, blushing bright red.

"Look, if you want to be treated like a regular part of the group, you have to deal with the teasing. We only tease the people we like," Monica said, grinning.

Steve laughed in spite of himself. "It's okay; it's fine." The teasing didn't really bother him; it didn't have the same edge as Stark's name-calling did.

0000

After about half an hour, the debate about dinner began. Steve just watched, not too particular about what he ate. On mission, he'd eaten MREs in the desert and freshly killed snake in the jungle. It really didn't bother him whether or not his pizza had pepperoni on it.

After the decisions had been made, Josh went around collecting money. "Okay, regular guy, it's eight dollars for the pizza and sodas and that includes the tip."

Steve took a twenty dollar bill from his wallet and handed it over.

"Wait a sec and I'll get you some change."

"That's not necessary. It's fine," Steve said.

"Really? Cool," Josh said and turned to the rest of the group. "We're getting hot wings!"

0000

Stacy smiled at Josh's shout and ducked into the kitchen. She pulled out her phone. "_He's here_," she texted, stowing it back in her purse once she'd hit send.

0000

"Alright, Call of Duty time!" Josh shouted and began to rifle through some game boxes nestled in the entertainment center as soon as the pizza order had been called in.

"No, please, no Call of Duty! Let's try something we can all play," Erica begged playfully.

"Like what?" Michael asked, clearly skeptical.

"Let's see. They have Dance Central. Let's do that!" Erica said brightly.

"Babe, c'mon, this may be the only time I'll ever be able to play Call of Duty with a certified war hero," Michael pleaded.

"And he'll probably kick your butt. With all that experience and superhuman speed, you don't stand a chance. You saw him dance. You might actually win at Dance Central," Erica countered.

"She's got a point there," Michael said reluctantly to Josh.

"Fine, fine. Dance Central it is," Josh replied, grabbing the game and putting it in the machine.

Steve smiled wanly at the group. He wasn't that eager to try a game that had dance in the title, although Erica was probably right about the other one.

"So, how do you play this game?" he asked Stacy as Erica and Josh began to set up the system.

"So, first you choose a song, then you choose a level. There's easy, medium or hard. Then, you dance, following the icon on the screen. On the side, there will also be hints on what the upcoming dance moves will be. At the end of the dance, you get rated on how accurate you are," Stacy answered.

"How do I get rated on how accurate I am?" Steve asked, feeling lost.

"See this?" Stacy said, pointing to a rectangular box on a slender mount resting on top of the entertainment center. "It has a sensor and it will detect your movements. There will be a little outline of you on the upper right part of the screen."

"It sounds a bit confusing," Steve said, hesitantly.

"Yeah, I guess it does at first. Why don't you watch us do a few and then you can try?" she said with a smile.

"Okay," he said.

He watched the first few players to get the feel of the game. The players would swipe their hands in the air to choose a song or level. It reminded him of Tony Stark and how he could manipulate images in the air He noticed as the players danced that hundreds of thousands of points would accrue and one by one a series of five stars would fill in. A fake crowd in the game shouted encouragement and the words,"Flawless" or "Nice" would appear from time to time.

Steve's turn came soon enough. He was in the center of the living room in front of the TV with Stacy and her friends encircled around him on the sofa and love seat. He took a deep breath. "Which song should I choose?" he asked Stacy.

"Let's see; Why don't you do 'I Know You Want Me' by Pitbull?" she replied. "The easy level for that one isn't too bad. I'm sure you'll be fine."

"Okay," Steve said and began to swipe his hand through the air to choose the song and level. He grinned a bit in spite of himself, seeing why Stark enjoyed doing it so much.

The song began with a count-in and Steve did his level best to follow along. He laughed at some of the names of the dance moves that popped up on the screen, such as "muscle man" and "candy cane". Two minutes later, the song was over and Steve had earned two out of the five stars. He was actually proud of himself, given that his last attempt at dancing had almost broken one of Stacy's feet.

Before the next dancer could begin, there was a distinctive cry in the far bedroom, followed quickly by another.

Monica reached for the remote, snapping off the T.V. "Now it's time to work."

0000

Monica, Stacy and Erica went into the back bedroom while the guys sat in the living room. Michael brought up Angelica and Rick's streaming Netflix account on the T.V. and began scrolling through the options.

"Josh, have you seen the newest Bond movie? It's out," Michael said.

"No, I wanted to watch that," Josh replied eagerly.

"Steve, have you seen it?" Michael asked.

"Uh, I . . . I don't know who Bond is," Steve confessed.

"You don't know who Bond is? You've never seen a James Bond movie?" Josh asked.

"No, never."

"Well, that settles it. Bond it is," Michael said. "We'll have to wait a bit, but that's the movie."

A few minutes passed and Monica and Erica emerged with the babies perched on their hips. Stacy was holding a thick, yellow blanket that she then laid out in front of the sofa along with some toys.

"Okay guys, watch them for a bit while we get the bottles ready. They can't crawl very well yet, but they can roll, so be careful," Monica warned as she and Erica placed the babies on the blanket and handed them each a toy. Then, all three girls went into the kitchen.

Steve peered down at the little tykes. Although twins, one was a boy and another a girl and they were dressed in respective blue and pink knit sleepers. They began to coo and giggle next to each other and it brought an involuntary grin to his face. He really couldn't remember the last time he was around a kid, much less a baby.

0000

"Alright, here we go," Monica said as they returned with the bottles and she scooped the little boy while Stacy picked up the little girl. Both women settled onto the couch, giving the babies their bottles.

Steve looked over at Stacy, a small grin gracing her face as she fed the baby. He was about to say something, but the buzzer rang, indicating the pizza delivery had arrived.

0000

Once the delivery man had been paid and paper plates found in the pantry, Michael quickly said grace and everyone tucked into the pizzas. Both Monica and Stacy balanced feeding a baby and eating themselves. They had tried to lay the babies down, but they began to cry and fuss. As soon as he had finished eating, Steve offered to hold the little girl so that Stacy could eat in peace.

"Are you sure?" she asked.

"It'd be my pleasure," and he sat back down on the couch, baby nestled in his arms and holding the bottle as she finished.

"Thank you so much," she replied with a smile.

0000

After the second bottle at ten o'clock, the babies were put back down in their cribs and the group could finally relax on the sofa and love seat.

"Man, I don't how Rick and Angelica do it. There were six of us watching them and I'm exhausted," Erica said, absentmindedly rubbing the stain on her jeans where one of the babies had spit up.

"You and me both," Michael said, putting his arm around Erica as she nestled her head on his shoulder.

"Did you guys pick a movie?" Monica asked.

"Yeah, Steve's never seen a Bond film and Skyfall just came out on Netflix," Josh answered.

"Yeah, let's watch that," Stacy said. "You'll like it. It's a big action movie. Lots of car chases, explosions, secret agents, shootouts."

Steve nodded and smiled. It sounded a lot like his job.

0000

Steve enjoyed the movie, although he had to laugh at more than one of the stunts. He wasn't sure he could have pulled off half of them and he had superpowers. He liked the interaction between the technology expert and Bond; he could definitely relate to the tension between tech support and field agents. He noted that these movies never showed the sheer amount of paperwork that was usually involved and he mentally tallied up how many reports Bond would have had to fill out if he were a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent.

0000

Rick and Angelica came home soon after the movie finished. They were tired, but so grateful that Steve felt a bit chagrined to accept their thanks. All he had really done was hold a baby and eat pizza, but the couple was so effusive you would have thought he had saved them from a burning building.

As Steve went to the kitchen to retrieve his jacket and helmet, he saw Stacy. "So, I'll see you on Tuesday?" he said, hoping that he didn't sound too aggressive.

"Yes, definitely. Seven p.m. work for you?"

"That'd be great," he said, smiling.

After he said good-bye to the rest of the group, he raced down the stairs, resisting the urge to slide down the bannister. It had been a simple night, but it was the happiest that he had been in a long, long time. Somehow, because of the easy acceptance of this group of friends, he felt young again. He finally started to feel like he belonged in this time. He smiled to himself. He couldn't wait until Tuesday.

* * *

**Author's note**- Rough translation of Spanish

My love

How pretty you look

Look


	5. Chapter 5

**Author's Note**- For those of you who watch Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D., I've thrown a little bonus in this chapter.

* * *

**Ch. 5**

On Sunday, Steve busied himself with the typical, mundane tasks and errands that everyone gets done on the weekend: finishing up his laundry, picking up dry cleaning, going grocery shopping. He knew that a lot of the errands could have been relegated to JARVIS via a delivery service, but spring was just starting to take hold of the city and he'd wanted to take advantage of being outside and feel the sun on his skin.

When he went grocery shopping, he made a point to pick up several different types of coffee and creamers for Stacy's visit the following Tuesday. He was amazed at the variety available. Back in his day, most people might take cream or sugar with their coffee, but that was usually the extent of it. As he looked over his full shopping cart, he winced a bit, thinking he might have gone a bit overboard, but the thought of having her stay just a little bit longer at his apartment was incentive enough to buy out the entire store.

00000

Steve woke up Monday morning with a groan. He was not looking forward to the day ahead. Unless there was a mission scheduled, he would be spending the rest of the day alternating between writing and reading reports or attending teleconferenced meetings. He would be stuck in his apartment for the entire day, held hostage by his laptop.

After a quick breakfast and a half a pot of black coffee, he powered up his work laptop and scanned through the morning's emails. Unfortunately, there were no missions scheduled. There were more reports of suspected leaks in the organization and Director Fury didn't want to waste resources by having even more agents in the field on wild goose chases. Although Steve knew that there were more S.H.I.E.L.D. operations going on at the moment than the search for the Hydra weapons facilities, he also knew that Fury was wary of spreading him too thin.

The morning passed slowly as Steve read report after report. He was embarrassed by how many times he had to Google unfamiliar terms or reread a section of a report time and time again before he understood what it fully meant. He had never even been to the S.H.I.E.L.D. academy that most of his fellow operatives had graduated from and he felt lost from time to time at the jargon and acronyms they used. He had to make himself a list so that he could keep track of them all.

Lunchtime rolled around and Steve rubbed his eyes. He was beyond ravenous, but the thought of yet another meal eaten alone depressed him. He decided to go up to the lab and see if Bruce was up for getting something to eat.

Once he reached the eighty-fifth floor, Steve went directly to Bruce's lab, placing his hand on the device next to the door, secretly pleased that he was one of the few people allowed to enter freely into Stark's top-secret labs.

"Hi, Bruce," Steve said as he entered the room. Bruce was hunched over a laptop, alternating between clicking between various screens and pinching the bridge of his nose. He didn't look up from his work; instead, he waved vaguely in Steve's direction.

"Hi, sorry. I'm just in the middle of something," Bruce said.

Bruce was always in the middle of something.

Steve smiled. "I'm going to go grab some lunch. Do you want to come?"

"Lunch?" Bruce asked, looking up, and Steve was shocked at what he saw. Bruce's face was ashen; his eyes were bloodshot with dark circles under them.

"Bruce, when's the last time you ate or slept or left this lab?"

Bruce sighed. "What day is it?"

"That's it. We're going out to lunch. You need some fresh air," Steve said.

"I can't. I just can't. I'm so close. The simulations have been driving me mad. If I can just find the right formulation, we'll be able to detect the specific gamma signatures of the Hydra weapons, and by extension, their manufacturing facilities," Bruce said, gesturing towards his laptop.

"Okay. That's it, buddy. You need to leave this lab. Now. That's an order. You're no good to us if you work yourself to the point of exhaustion." Steve knew he sounded a bit harsh, but he needed to get Bruce out of the Tower, if only for an hour or so.

Bruce opened his mouth, clearly wanting to object, but just shook his head. "You're right, man. Let me just grab my jacket. Where are we going?"

Steve thought for a second. "How about the Café Mystère? It's nearby; we can just walk there. I know that they serve food."

"Okay," Bruce agreed, shrugging on his jacket and following Steve out the door of the lab.

00000

"It's a lot warmer than I thought it would be," Bruce said, taking off his jacket and unbuttoning the top few buttons of his blue long sleeve shirt. He placed the jacket on the back of his seat and shifted his chair slightly so that it would be under the shade of the outside table's umbrella.

"When is the last time you left the Tower?" Steve asked, concerned that his friend had been wasting away and he hadn't even bothered to check up on him.

"Days, maybe weeks? It was colder when I did. Feels more like spring now," Bruce replied vaguely.

Guilt surged in Steve. He had been completely ignorant of what Bruce was going through. Steve had just been wrapped up in his own problems and his own life.

"So, how've you been doing?" Bruce asked before taking a massive bite of a club sandwich.

"Good, actually really good," Steve replied.

"Really?" Bruce asked incredulously, his mouth full of food.

Steve smiled. He wasn't surprised at Bruce's reaction. He knew he had spent months moping around the Tower, spreading his misery around to everyone he met. "Yeah, really."

"So, what's changed? I know work hasn't improved any," Bruce said carefully since they were out in public.

"No, work is more frustrating than it's ever been," Steve said ruefully.

"So what?" Bruce asked, leaning in and stuffing a fry in his mouth.

"Well, I met this girl," Steve began, a bit embarrassed.

"A girl? Well, that'll do it," he said with a smile.

"It's not like that . . . at least, not at the moment," Steve said.

"So, what's it like?"

"I don't know. It's just that she's been really kind and she's got this great group of friends, and they've kind of, I don't know, adopted me into their group. I can't tell you how nice it is to leave the Tower for something other than an assignment," Steve explained.

"Well, I'm glad for you. That's great news."

Steve grinned. "And you?"

Bruce took a deep breath. "Well, I'll admit. I got a bit obsessed about the current problem I'm working on."

"I'll say," Steve replied, tucking into his own sandwich.

"Thanks for getting me out of there. I guess I'm just so close to the end of this that I got tunnel vision."

"No problem, buddy," Steve said.

000000

On Tuesday, Steve repeated the pattern, reports and teleconferences until noon, then dragging Bruce out of the lab for lunch. They found a nearby diner that served massive burgers and fries. Steve felt, for the first time in a while, that his life was actually settling down into a comfortable rhythm.

After lunch, Steve spent the afternoon wading through weapons reports. The fact that he knew that Hydra was stockpiling weapons for who knows what purpose, chilled his blood. He vividly remembered their weapons from when he fought them during World War II. He saw men completely obliterated, leaving nothing behind, no body to bury. The thought of seeing that again spurred Steve to do whatever he could to completely destroy Hydra.

There was, however, a feeling of weariness that ate at him. It had been seventy years and Steve was still fighting the same battles. He was still going after the same enemy. Some things had changed so very, very much in the last seven decades and some things were exactly the same.

He clicked through a few more reports and shifted uncomfortably when he realized one of them was an update about the S.H.I.E.L.D. phase 2 Tesseract-based weapons that he had discovered on the hellcarrier before the Battle of New York. His stomach lurched when he flashed back to breaking into the secured room full of advanced weaponry. When he saw that S.H.I.E.L.D. had manufactured weapons so similar to the ones engineered by Hydra, his faith in the organization had faltered. Luckily, the weapons had turned out to be riddled with technological bugs and rarely worked properly, so they hadn't made it past field testing. Yet.

Even though Steve preferred more conventional firearms, he wasn't naive. Whether you used a Hydra weapon, a S.H.I.E.L.D. Tesseract gun or a regular pistol, your opponent would be just as dead. His parents would lose a son, his wife would lose a husband, and his children would lose a father. Steve was hardly a pacifist; he knew that you had to make hard, even heartbreaking choices in war. But that didn't mean he was oblivious to the lives he had taken, even if it had been done to save others.

He paused a second while scanning report titles and clicked back a few screens. He found a report entitled, "Neural Disruption as Defensive Weaponry." He clicked on it and up sprang a report written by Dr. Fitz and Dr. Simmons that detailed an experimental weapon that had been used with great success on several assignments for their team. The "Night-Night Gun" (Steve smiled at the nickname) would consistently incapacitate opponents, rendering them unconscious. After a short summary written in straightforward English, the report began to delve into the technical biological and mechanical aspects of the device which made Steve's head swim when he tried to decipher it. The more he thought about it, though, the more excited he got. Why wasn't this type of weapon standard issue throughout S.H.I.E.L.D.?

Steve took a deep breath and decided to email Director Fury about it. He dashed off a quick email, exhorting Fury to please read over the report and look into the weapon's widespread use throughout S.H.I.E.L.D. Although the email only took five minutes to write, he wasted another fifteen minutes trying to figure out how to attach the report to it.

Once he hit send, he sighed in relief. He looked up at the clock on the wall and saw that it was six o'clock. Stacy would be there in an hour. He looked around the apartment and was satisfied that it was as clean as it was going to get. He powered down his laptop and then put it in his bedroom. For a moment, he hesitated. Stacy would be in his bedroom alone if she used the bathroom to shower again, since the bathroom was off of his room. He knew there was sensitive information on the laptop and that S.H.I.E.L.D. had entrusted it to him to keep it safe, but he hardly thought he needed to worry about a kindergarten teacher. Anyhow, it was password-protected to prevent anyone else from using it. _I'm sure it's fine_, he told himself as he stowed it and changed into his workout clothes.

He heated up his dinner, microwave meals that he bought in bulk. One of the downsides of the super-serum was near-constant hunger to fuel his enhanced metabolism. He knew he easily ate two to three times as much as other people did. He had eaten five sandwiches before going out to babysit with Stacy's friends, since he felt a bit uneasy about ordering two pizzas just for himself.

He looked at the lackluster heated meals before him and sighed a bit. He had never learned to cook from his mother, not really thinking it was a skill that he'd need much. After she passed away, he spent an inordinate amount of time at Bucky's house and his mother always made Steve a hot meal and pushed him to take home any leftovers. Truth be told, he had felt a bit like a stray cat, but her kindness and hospitality were such a welcome balm to the overwhelming grief he felt after his mother passed away. He smiled a bit, remembering pot roast and potatoes, warm rolls and butter. He looked down at the watery mess he was about to eat, the meat unrecognizable, the pasta rubbery and tasteless. He really needed to learn how to cook.

After bolting down five microwaved meals in quick succession, he turned on the T.V. to while away the time until Stacy would be there. He was so fascinated with all of the channels, although he rarely found programs that he enjoyed. Television was just getting introduced to America in the 1940s and it was odd to see how ubiquitous it had become. He was delighted when he found a channel that almost exclusively ran "old" black and white movies. Although considered classics, most of the movies were from the late 40s or 50s and he'd never seen them. The ability to see a movie in his own home, without having to go to a movie theater, was wonderful.

He began to get engrossed in a western featuring John Wayne when he looked up and saw that it was ten minutes until seven. He fumbled for the remote and turned off the television. He was a bit unsure of what he should do next. He could just wait for her call and then go downstairs to sign her in and help her through security. Or he could go down now, and wait for her in the lobby. He didn't want to seem too eager, but neither did he want to seem rude.

After a minute of going back and forth about it, he grabbed his phone and left the apartment. He took the stairs like he always did, two at time, looking forward to seeing her once again. Once in the lobby, he waved at the security guards on duty.

"Hi, I have a friend coming by," Steve said, as way of explanation.

"Wow, really? Good for you," said Sam, a guard that Steve had gotten to know fairly well in the past few months.

Steve grinned. Everyone seemed to be surprised that he actually was making friends. "So, how are the kids?" he asked.

"Great, great. Growing like weeds. Eating me out of house and home. Thanks again for all of those Captain America toys. They went nuts when I brought them home."

"You're welcome. Glad they liked them," Steve said. At first Steve was a bit uncomfortable with S.H.I.E.L.D. licensing his image and those of the fellow Avengers for merchandising, but some of their lawyers explained to him that if they didn't, someone else would just come along and do it anyways. The royalties Steve got from the sales rivaled his S.H.I.E.L.D. paycheck and he was happy to give away toys or lunchboxes to people he knew. From time to time, he'd be approached by a charity to sign an item and donate it to raise funds and he always obliged.

The lobby doors opened and Stacy walked in, head down, busily texting on her phone. After a moment, she looked up, saw Steve, and waved.

"Hi, I was just about to text you," she said.

"Hi," he said, glad that he had come down. Although he was vaguely aware that his phone could receive texts, he'd never done it himself. He was so proud when he finally figured out the voicemail. He remembered when he first got the phone, a gift from Stark, and went up to show it to Bruce. He had been so glad to finally get a cell phone and that it was one he could use easily. Unfortunately, Bruce gently told him that it was the type of flip phone that was marketed to senior citizens and that Stark had most likely meant it as a joke. Steve remembered feeling so crestfallen at that. Still, Steve kept it as he doubted he'd do well with anything more advanced.

"Ready to work out?" Steve asked Stacy once she'd gone through security.

"Oh, yeah. Definitely," she said with a wink and they headed to the elevators. "Wait, we can take the stairs, if you'd like. I mean, we are going to work out. Seems silly to take the elevator."

"Sounds good," he said and he walked her to the stairwell.

000000

Once Stacy finished working out on the elliptical, she walked over to where Steve was punching the heavy bag, gulping the entire contents of her water bottle along the way. "Okay, I'm ready for lesson number two," she said, a little out of breath.

Steve nodded and handed her the boxing gloves. He helped her get the second glove on when he saw her struggle. Once her gloves were on, he started going over the basics again, focusing on her stance and follow-through. He decided to limit this lesson on one type of punch, the jab, for two reasons. One, she really needed to work on her technique as she consistently twisted to leave herself a bit off-balance as she punched. Two, he wanted an excuse to have her come back to learn more.

Again, after twenty minutes or so, he could see that she was beginning to falter and that her punches had lost any semblance of precision. "I think that might be enough for one lesson," he said as kindly as he could.

"Am I making any progress at all?" she asked.

"Yes, definitely. You just need to keep at it," he said as he helped her with her gloves.

"Thank you so much. It's been great of you to show me so much," she said.

"I could . . . show you some more. There are a lot of different types of punches and boxing techniques I haven't taught you yet."

"Are you sure? I'm not . . . bothering you?" She looked up at him, uncertainty written all over her face.

_Bothering me? I've been looking forward to this for days_, he thought. "It would be my genuine pleasure."

"So, Tuesdays and Thursdays at seven? And Saturday mornings around ten? Would that be okay?" she asked tentatively.

"That'd be great," he replied, trying to seem casual.

"Umm, I don't want to impose, but I did bring a change of clothes. Could I use your shower again?"

"Please, go right ahead. You're welcome to use it, any time." Steve walked her over to the apartment, letting her in. He sat on the couch as she entered the bedroom with her gym bag.

00000

Thirty minutes later, she emerged from his bedroom, after having showered and changed clothes. "Could I get your wifi password for here?" she asked. "I wanted to check something on Facebook."

"Oh . . . uh," Steve gritted his teeth. He hated to deny her anything, but he knew that it wasn't something he was supposed to give out. "I'm sorry. I can't. It's just with security being so tight . . ." he began.

"Oh, I'm so sorry. I totally forgot. I completely understand. No worries. I'll just check it when I get home. I should probably get going anyhow. I've got work tomorrow," she said, putting her phone back in her purse.

"Do you want some coffee before you go? I've got decaf."

Her eyes lit up. "Coffee? Okay, but just one cup."

000000

Three cups later, Steve was glad that he had bought decaf. They spent the time talking about Stacy's job and she kept him entertained with stories of her students. "One day, one darling little girl came up to me and asked me, 'are you a mommy or a little girl?'"

"Really? What did you say?" he asked, chuckling.

"I told her that I was older than a little girl, but not a mommy yet. You should have seen her; her eyes were wide as saucers. In her mind, all women just fell into one of those two categories."

"Whatever happened with the mother of one of your students? The one that was hurt in the attack?" he asked.

"Oh, good news. She woke up from her coma and it looks like there's no permanent damage. It's such a blessing. She'll have to do some physical therapy, of course, but it looks like she'll be fine, in the end."

"That's great," Steve said.

Stacy looked up at the clock in the kitchen. "Oh, it's almost nine thirty. I need to get going."

"Um, how are you planning on getting home?" Steve asked.

"Just the subway. I really should go before it gets too late."

"I could give you a ride, if you'd like," he said.

"I've never ridden on motorcycle before. Do you have a second helmet?" she asked, head cocked to the side.

"Yeah, I got one on Sunday. Just in case," he said, feeling nervous. He knew it was a gamble to offer, but he just didn't want to say goodbye just yet.

"That'd be great. Thank you," she said.

00000

The feeling of her arms around his waist, her pressed against his back as he sped through the city was the highlight of his week. He didn't want the ride to end, but they arrived at her apartment building far too soon for his tastes.

Stacy took off her helmet and handed it to him. "Thanks for everything. I'll see you Thursday."

"See you then," he said, watching her as she fished her keys from her purse and walked to her front door. He waited a moment or two after she went in, letting the moment sink in, grinning to himself.

* * *

**Author's note**- I realized at the end there are two or three Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. shoutouts, not just one. Let me know if you find them!


	6. Chapter 6

**Ch. 6**

Steve's Wednesday passed much like the previous Monday did with reports, lunch with Bruce and looking forward to the next day. Bruce was much more optimistic this time around. He had tried a few more variations of his algorithms and the initial simulations look much more promising. He needed to adjust some of the parameters to make sure his design could withstand field testing, but, on the whole, he was hopeful. Steve, for one, was just glad that Bruce was getting out of the Tower on a regular basis. He had lost the unearthly pallor to his skin and he looked at least ten years younger.

The only frustrating aspect of Wednesday for Steve was the fact that he must have checked his email at least ten times an hour waiting for Fury's reply. It was the first time that Steve had actually pushed for new technology to be used in the field and he had hoped that Director Fury would have responded quickly. He tried to remind himself that Fury had a lot on his plate and he could hardly be expected to respond immediately, but it was with some relief that he finally received a response at six o'clock that evening.

_I'll look into it._

_- Director Fury_

Steve fought the urge to roll his eyes. Nearly eight hours of constantly checking his email and that was all he got as a reply? He debated writing back and pressing Director Fury for a more definite answer, but, in the end, he decided to wait a couple of weeks and see what happened then.

00000

Steve couldn't remember much of Thursday. He was so focused on seeing Stacy later on that night that he was distracted all day. He kept reading the same reports over and over again. He really wasn't getting any real work done. When he should have been paying attention during videoconferenced calls, he found himself absentmindedly doodling. It wasn't until the third call that he looked down and realized that he had drawn dozens of smiling Stacys. He moved the paper ever so slightly to the side to hide it from the laptop camera.

Bruce called him out on his woolgathering during their lunch together and Steve apologized. Bruce said that he understood, but Steve tried his best to focus on his friend during the rest of his meal.

00000

After yet another workout, boxing lesson and shower, Steve looked up expectantly as Stacy came out from his bedroom.

"Look, I switched to backpack for the motorcycle ride. I thought the gym bag was going to fall the last time we rode," Stacy said, stuffing her dirty gym clothes into a black backpack.

"So, are you up for some coffee before you go?" Steve asked.

"I shouldn't. I should really get going."

"Oh, okay," Steve said, trying to keep the disappointment out of his voice and utterly failing.

"But, what are you doing on Saturday evening?" she asked quickly.

"No plans at the moment," Steve said._ Like I ever make plans for a Saturday night_, he thought.

"Well, it's Michael's birthday. We're all getting together and going bowling."

"Bowling?" he asked.

"It's kind of an inside joke. We all took a bowling class in college to take care of a required P.E. credit. Michael and Erica actually got really good at it."

"And the rest of you?"

"Let's just say it's a good thing we took it pass/fail."

Steve smiled. Bowling didn't seem like the most physically active sport he'd seen.

"Sounds good. What time?"

Stacy grabbed the pen and paper on the kitchen counter. She double-checked the address on her phone.

"So, six o'clock. We'll probably order some pizzas from there, although, I have to warn you, they aren't very good."

"Okay, what . . . what should I get him . . . for his birthday?" Steve asked. He didn't know Michael very well, but he didn't want to show up empty-handed.

"Let's see . . . he and Erica go to the movies a lot. How about a movie gift card? Here are the theater chains they usually go to," she said as she wrote them down next to the bowling alley address. "Most grocery stores have a display with gift cards. You can just pick one up there."

"Thanks," Steve said, glad that he had asked.

"We should probably get going," she said, picking up her backpack and heading towards the door.

"Okay," he said and followed her out the door.

00000

After their Saturday morning workout, Steve offered her coffee again.

"Oh, yes. A thousand times, yes," she said brightly as she followed him into the kitchen.

Steve grinned. After she had said no on Thursday, he was worried that maybe he had come on too strong, been too forward. Maybe he had misread her friendship for something more than it really was.

Coffee cup in hand, Stacy curled up on the easy chair, a blissful grin gracing her face. "You know, I tried to stop drinking coffee once. Worst day of my life," she said with a wink.

Steve chuckled. He liked coffee, but he had never seen someone quite so devoted to it.

"So, do you mind if I ask you a nosy question?" Stacy asked.

"Ask away," he said. _Ask anything if it will make you stay here longer_, he thought.

"So, of course, I Googled you. You were in a touring show, selling war bonds across America. What was that like?" she asked.

She had Googled him. He shouldn't have been surprised, but it was an uncomfortable feeling. He imagined meeting a girl in the 1940s and then going to his local library to look up old newspaper articles about her. It would have seemed odd, beyond unsettling. And yet, he knew it was a common occurrence nowadays. Just another change that he had to get used to.

Steve took a deep breath. He was going to have to be careful to not reveal any classified information when he explained his origins. "Well, it was presented to me as a way to help the war effort. Of course, I wanted to fight, but it was either work promoting war bonds or be experimented on."

"Oh. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to bring up any bad memories," Stacy said as she set her coffee down, looking apologetic.

"No, it's okay. Um, let's see, I travelled all around the U.S. I guess, I felt a bit silly at first. You know, the costume, the showgirls, knocking a fake Adolf Hitler out. But, to tell the truth, I had never really left New York before and I sort of," he looked down, "I know it's going to sound a bit old-fashioned, but I sort of fell in love with this country. I mean, I was always patriotic. Nearly everyone was back then. But, after actually seeing it, meeting people from Texas and Michigan, California and Florida, it changed me. I no longer wanted to fight for an abstract idea, America, I wanted to fight to protect those people, those families."

Stacy smiled gently at him. "It doesn't sound old-fashioned at all. It seems very sweet."

There was a short pause as Stacy picked up her cup and took a sip. When she had finished, she looked at Steve expectantly, "Um, so you know I'm a kindergarten teacher at a private school."

He nodded, wondering where she was going with this.

"So, um, private schools don't pay much. And I've got huge student loans. So, money's tight. And I've really been enjoying working out here," she said. She took a deep breath and looked at him with a tentative smile. "Would it . . . would it be okay . . . if I cancelled my gym membership and just planned on working out here? It just seems silly to pay them and never go there," she said quickly.

Steve struggled to hide his delight. "Sure, of course, I think you're right. Go ahead and cancel it. Makes sense. No reason to waste money."

"Great," she said, standing and taking her empty coffee cup to dishwasher. "I need to go meet Monica for lunch. But I'll see you tonight. Are you up for bowling?

Steve nodded. "I'll be there."

00000

At 5:55 p.m., Steve strode into the bowling alley. He looked around and although he didn't recognize anyone, he was getting used to arriving too early to these social get-togethers. It just felt rude to him to be late. He looked around the bowling alley and he felt the tension ease out of him. He had actually been bowling a few times back in the 1940s, so he wouldn't feel too out of place. He walked through the alley a bit, getting the lay of the land, so to speak, and when he walked back towards the entrance, he saw Stacy and her friends. He waved at them as he approached and Stacy's face lit up when she saw him.

"Hi," she said, grinning. "We're going to snag one of the big tables in the back room. There should be about twenty of us all together."

He nodded and followed the group as they walked towards the back of the bowling alley to a large semi-private room with long tables.

"Happy Birthday, Michael," Steve said, shaking his hand.

"Thanks, man. I'm glad you came. You know, you may be a superhero, but you had better be ready to get thrashed at bowling," Michael said with a wink.

"Looking forward to it," Steve said. He took off his leather jacket and made sure to place on the seat next to Stacy's. He noticed that Monica and Erica were holding large pink boxes that reminded him of when the new recruits brought in pastries for the morning debriefings.

"Donuts?" he asked Stacy as she hastily put her phone away.

"Better," she leaned in and whispered in his ear, "Cupcakes from Michael's favorite store. Normally we'd just bake them ourselves, but these have salted caramel filling in them. Michael raves about them."

Steve nodded. People nowadays were very, very serious about their desserts.

00000

Slowly, the rest of Michael's friends filtered in and began to fill up the seats around the table. Stacy explained to him that they knew almost all of them from their now defunct college group. Nearly all of them were couples; most of them were already married, and a few of them even had babies with them. Rick and Angelica were there with the twins in a double stroller. Once the majority of people were there, the great pizza debate began to rage once again, only this time, Steve observed that it was even more contentious since there were so many people.

After a good fifteen minutes, it seemed that there was at least some type of consensus, and money was dutifully collected and Josh sent to put the order in. Steve sat back and let the conversation swirl around him. He didn't really know any of the new people and he didn't bother to try to remember their names. He was so proud he could recall all of Stacy's friends. He was glad to realize that no one seemed to recognize him. He figured that the helmet he routinely wore as part of his uniform obscured enough of his face to afford him at least a little anonymity.

00000

After pizza, cupcakes and presents, it was time to start bowling. Everyone began to split up and reserve lanes. Since Erica and Michael were known to be such good players, they were forced to be on separate teams. "Steve's on my team," Stacy called out as everyone was finalizing the teams.

She turned to him. "Sorry to stick you on my team, but without you, there's no chance my team will win."

"Are you really that bad a player?" Steve asked, amused.

"Absolutely horrid," she said. "I always did my English homework during bowling class. I never paid attention to anything that the instructor tried to teach us. On the other hand, I did get an A in my English class."

"Well, I'd be honored to be on your team. Although I do have to warn you, I haven't played in about seventy years."

"You'll still be better than me," she replied.

She was right. Except for an initial hiccup when Steve threw the first ball a bit too hard and smashed the pins to smithereens, Steve was able to bowl strike after strike. Stacy's balls, on the other hand, spent most of their time in the gutter.

"You weren't kidding," Steve said after Stacy sent yet another ball to the side.

"I did warn you. You know, I have many other fine qualities," she said, a bit sarcastically.

"I know that you do," he said and gave her a wink.

00000

After they had all bowled a few games, Michael came up to Steve with a huge grin on his face. "Thanks again for the gift card. I've been talking to the group. We're thinking of getting together next Saturday night and going to the movies. There are a couple of good ones out. Are you up for it?"

Steve smiled. It was the first time someone from the group, other than Stacy, had invited him out. "I'd love to."

"Great. I'll text Stacy some time this week and we'll settle on a time."

"Sounds good," Steve replied.

00000

The next week passed quickly. Steve decided that Tuesdays, Thursdays and Saturdays were his favorite days. He existed for those moments when Stacy entered the lobby, bounding in and a brilliant smile would engulf her face when she saw him.

Thursday at noon, Steve walked into Bruce's lab, ready to tear him away from his work once again. Bruce was becoming reclusive again, trying to duck out on their lunches together to spend more time on his simulations and tweaking his algorithms. He winced when he saw who was standing next to him, pointing at the laptop.

"How's my favorite representative of the greatest generation?"

"Fine, Stark," Steve said as he smiled wanly. He was sure that there was an insult buried in there somewhere because, well, it was Stark, but he couldn't find it.

"You know, it's been months. We've saved the world together; you live in my building; I think you can actually call me Tony."

"Alright . . . Tony."

"So, lunch?" Bruce broke in.

"Yeah, lunch," Steve said, realizing that now there'd be no way to exclude Stark.

Tony smiled and started towards the door. "I've made reservations at Luigi's, best Italian in the city. They've got massive portions, big guy," he said as he slapped Steve in the stomach with the back of his hand.

Steve gritted his teeth, fighting the urge to snap back. "Okay. Let me just grab my helmet and I'll meet you there."

"No, no, no. My car's out front waiting for us. We're all going together," Tony said over his shoulder as he headed towards the elevator.

Steve shot Bruce an exasperated look. Bruce mouthed back, _I'm sorry_.

"Fine," Steve said aloud as he and Bruce followed Tony to the elevator.

000000

Steve did have to hand it to him, Tony was right about the food. It was amazing and the portions were substantial. Steve only needed to order two entrees on top of the soup, salad and bread he had eaten. He finished his homemade porcini mushroom ravioli and chicken picatta before Tony and Bruce were even halfway through their meals. When the check came, Steve reached for his wallet, but Tony waved him off.

"It's on me, big guy. To make up for that kerfluffle in France."

"Thanks," Steve said, not knowing what else to say. His friendship with Tony was always this uneasy mixture of comradeship and snark and Steve never knew what was going to happen next.

"So, have you guys ferreted out the leak in your organization?" Tony asked.

"Tony . . . . ." Bruce began.

"What? They've been chasing their tails for months. You think I don't read the reports Fury forwards me? Tell me, Capsicle, how many S.H.I.E.L.D. agents have died over this leak? Twenty? Thirty? Did you read yesterday's report? Last week, eight of your guys died when they tripped an explosive left behind in a vacant Hydra plant. Fifteen wounded. How many more people have to die before you guys get your act together?" Tony asked, his expression hardening with every question.

"For someone so incredibly concerned about security, you sure seem to be running your mouth a lot in public," Steve said, fists clenching as he fought the desire to make Tony stop talking.

"Look, I own this restaurant, Gramps. My employees are loyal to me," Tony shot back.

"Guys, let's just calm down. We need to work the problem, not attack each other," Bruce said calmly and deliberately.

Steve took a deep breath. Tony did have a point. They were no closer to finding out the source of the Hydra leaks and the stakes had escalated. Now, instead of S.H.I.E.L.D. operatives arriving at empty warehouses, they were arriving at ones that were extensively booby-trapped. After the first few attacks, S.H.I.E.L.D. had wised up, sending the bomb squad first into every compound they raided, but they were no closer to finding out where the weapons were.

"Do you have any helpful suggestions?" Steve asked slowly. He needed to start using Tony as a resource; see him as a team member and not just as a thorn in his side.

Tony smiled. "See, that's how a team is supposed to work. Give and take. I actually have some brilliant suggestions, AARP."

Steve sighed. He was not looking forward to the next few hours.

00000

It was three o'clock. Steve shifted uncomfortably in the padded booth. Tony had spent the last two hours droning on and on about different technological options S.H.I.E.L.D. had to track down the Hydra leak. Bruce spent the time nodding thoughtfully, so Steve assumed Tony's suggestions were valid, but he was utterly and completely lost.

Tony looked over at him, "So, Fury forwarded me that report about the Night-Night Guns. Cute name, by the way. So, in essence, you want us to set our phasers on stun?"

"Phasers . . . I don't know about that, and it's not stun. It'll make your opponent go unconscious," Steve said.

"Yeah . . . That's what I meant . . . Never mind," Tony said, shaking his head.

"It's a Star Trek reference. From the 60s," Bruce added helpfully.

"Oh . . . I get it," Steve said. He didn't get it, but it wasn't worth spending the time having them explain it. It was just another reference that went over his head.

00000

It was Saturday night and once again, Steve was too early. He checked the time, 6:55 p.m. He looked around the entrance of the movie theater and didn't recognize anyone.

There were quite a few people out front, so Steve decided to get in line and hope that Stacy and her friends would arrive before he reached the front. He had no idea which movie they were supposed to be watching.

Five minutes later, the line had barely moved when he felt a hand on his shoulder.

"Hi, have you been waiting long?" Stacy asked as he turned towards her.

Steve sucked in his breath as he saw her. He had just seen her earlier that morning, but the sight of her still threw him for a loop. It took him longer to respond than it should have, "No, not long."

"Great. Thanks for saving a place for us in line," she said, as she leaned into him a bit. Her hair brushed up against his face and she smelled of vanilla and almonds.

"So, what movie are we watching?" Steve asked, trying to distract himself after waving to the rest of the group that came with Stacy.

"Star Trek. You'll like it," Stacy said with a wink.

"Wait, is that the one with the phasers set on stun?" Steve asked, so glad to have finally made a connection.

"Yes, that's it. It's science fiction. You know, aliens and all that," she said excitedly.

"Actually, I'm not that keen on aliens," Steve said, dryly.

"Oh, no. I didn't even think. I'm so, so sorry. Did you want to see something else?" Stacy asked, anxiously.

Steve looked up at the marquee. He didn't recognize any of the other titles. "I'm sure that this will be fine."

After getting their tickets, they hit the concession stand. Steve was starving once again and got the biggest bowl of popcorn they had and bought a few others for the rest of the group as a thank you for the invite.

Once they had found seats, Stacy leaned over and whispered in his ear. "You know, it's really sweet of you, but you don't need buy popcorn for everyone."

"It's nothing," he said, waving it off.

"Good, 'cause I am totally going to eat all of yours," she said with a giggle, swiping a handful from the bowl in his lap.

Steve smiled, but shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He was going to have a hard time paying attention to the film.

00000

Steve actually really enjoyed the movie, although it was a bit overwhelming to be in a theater and hear the loud explosions going off all around him. The character of Khan in the movie reminded Steve disturbingly of Loki. They were even both in similar clear prison cells. The all too familiar air of superiority and haughty disapproval was palpable on screen and made Steve more than a little unsettled to watch it.

Afterwards, as they spilled into the lobby, the girls huddled together and began giggling about one of the actors in the film.

"Which one was Benedict Cumberbatch?" Steve asked Michael as the girls went off to the restroom.

"He's the guy that played Khan," Michael said as he headed towards the men's room.

Steve rolled his eyes. What was it with women and villains? A vaguely British accent was hardly the mark of good mate.

He and Josh were left standing in the lobby, waiting for everyone. Steve decided it was time to ask the question he'd been wanting to ask for weeks. "So, Josh, I know you both dated for a while, but why did you and Stacy break up?"

"Honestly? I was an idiot."

"Really?" Steve asked.

"I had been dating my girlfriend for three years. I thought she was the one. I thought we were going to get married. Then, out of the blue, she tells me that she wants to see other people. I was devastated. I went into a tailspin. And there was Stacy. Kind, sweet, understanding. Just what I needed. We went out for a few months. Everything was going really well. I mean, you know her, she's great," Josh said with a smile.

"And then?" Steve said to hurry the story along. The last thing he wanted to hear was how blissfully happy she was with another man.

"My ex called me, crying. Saying how she had made a mistake. Saying how she missed me. That's when I made my big mistake," Josh said as he looked down.

"What?" Steve asked.

"Well, I tried to juggle them both. Without them knowing. As you can guess, when it came out, I lost both of them. But that wasn't even the worst part."

"What was?" Steve asked, prompting him to finish.

"Well, in a group like this one, you break up with someone and you lose all your friends. Of course, both Monica and Erica hated me. And, Michael was one of my best friends, but he had to side with Erica. I had been a jerk. And it cost me, man. No one talked to me for months. Finally, Stacy started inviting me out with the group again, offering an olive branch. It's fine now, but I really learned my lesson."

Steve swallowed. He thought of losing this group of friends. The thought of going back to lonely nights, rereading the same paragraph over and over again in a book he wasn't interested in made him blanch. He thought of weekends holed up in the Tower, only living for the next assignment. He couldn't do that. Not any more.

Also, he reasoned to himself, Stacy had been friendly, but had never crossed that line into indicating any kind of romantic interest. She had complained more than once of crass men on the subway, of uncomfortable encounters with persistent would-be suitors on the bus. Steve was worried that if he asked her out, she'd reject him, and he'd lose not only her friendship, but that of her entire circle. While he wanted nothing more than to take her in his arms, the thought that he might lose her forever made him hold back.

_Maybe it would be better to just keep everything the way it was_, he thought. _No need to rock the boat_.

000000

The next morning, Steve was out picking up his dry-cleaning when his phone rang.

"Hello", he answered, hoping it was Stacy.

"Where are you?" asked Natasha. He could hear the tension in her voice.

"Out running errands. I'm about fifteen minutes away from the Tower," Steve answered.

"Well, hightail it over here. We've got an assignment. Grab your gear and meet me on the roof," she said.

"Will do," he replied as he hung up and started back towards his motorcycle.

000000

Once Steve had boarded the helicopter, he looked over at Natasha. "So, is it Hydra?" he asked hopefully.

"No," she replied as she maneuvered the aircraft towards the hellicarrier waiting in port. "We're going after Centipede."

"Okay," he said. Steve had kept up on the reports on Centipede's work. They were trying to create supersoldiers, much like himself. For what exact purpose, no one seemed to know, but it could hardly be benign.

00000

Three days later, Steve collapsed into his bunk. He had lost count of the number of countries they had visited, the number of would-be supersoldiers he had fought. Even with his enhanced abilities, he had some limits. He had just inhaled ten MREs to stop himself from shaking from hunger and now all he wanted to do is sleep.

As he grabbed the thin pillow to fold it under his head, his fingers brushed up his phone that he had left on his bed; its cord was still connected to the outlet. He was about to put it on the ground when he noticed the tiny mail icon was illuminated, meaning he had a message. He debated not listening to it, but, he thought, perhaps it was important. Not many people had his number.

He entered the passcode as he stretched out in bed, piling the blankets on him.

He heard the automated voice speak, "Tuesday, April 30th. One new message."

"Hi, um, Steve. It's Stacy. This is like the third time I've tried to call you. It's about 7:20. I don't know where you are. I hope you're okay. The security guards won't let me up without you to sign me in. . . . I bet you're working or something. Maybe . . . maybe I should just plan to go back to my old gym if you might be gone a lot. Anyhow, call me back."

Steve sat upright in bed. It was Wednesday. He had totally forgotten about Stacy. He felt horrible. How long had she stayed in the lobby, pacing back and forth waiting for him? He looked at the clock and then did the mental arithmetic to figure out what time it was in New York, nine in the morning. Her phone was probably off while she was teaching.

He called the security desk at the Tower and made all the necessary arrangements and then called Stacy's phone and left a message.

"Hi, Stacy, it's Steve. I am so sorry that I didn't call you. I am working right now, out of the country. I've talked to the security guards and you are now cleared to come into the Tower even when I'm not there to sign you in. You already know that the gym is unlocked. I might be gone from time to time because of work, but please, use the Tower gym from now on. I should be back in town Thursday morning and I'll give you a call then."

Steve let out a yawn as he hung up. That was a near miss. He couldn't believe that he had forgotten. He put down the phone and crawled into bed, sleeping for the next eight hours straight.

* * *

**Author's Notes-**

1) I played around a bit with the release dates of Skyfall and Star Trek Into Darkness so that one would be on Netflix streaming while one was in the theaters.

2) I happen to disagree with Steve. Vaguely British accents and real British accents are a treat.

3) There's another Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. shoutout in this chapter. Let me know if you find it!

4) MRE-Meal Ready to Eat – military field rations


End file.
